His purple eyes were streaked with zigzags of bright white, and he was gazing at her as if she were the heart of the world. «I hear you, and you hear me,» Pixit said inside Mina’s head, and with the words came a warm rush of love and joy.

Mina had never felt anything this right. It felt as though she were half a puzzle, and Pixit were the other half—​there was the wonderful sense that she was finally complete. She hadn’t even known she was incomplete before. But now that Pixit was here . . . His emotions spilled into her along with his thoughts, and she felt his joy bubbling in her throat as Pixit said, «I am yours, and you are mine. And we will always be together!»

“Together we’re going to do great things,” Mina told him. Then she tried sending her words from her mind to his silently, as Gaton had described. Just like in the tales.

«Yes, we are! Together we’re going to set the world on fire! We’ll right every wrong and have adventures and—​ooh, I have wings!» Pixit stretched out two yellow dragon wings and twisted his head right, left, and upside down, trying to admire them from all angles.

She laughed, feeling so full of bubbling joy—​both Pixit’s and her own—​that she wanted to cry. Go on. Try them. Fly! She jumped up, hurried to the window, and threw open the shutters. Sunlight poured inside, and Pixit flapped his wings enthusiastically. You can do it!

Wobbling, he rose into the air. And then, with a happy shriek, he flew out the window. «Wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!»

“Yay! Go, Pixit!” she cheered him on.

Her beast sailed shakily over their yard, then swooped up, clipping a line of fresh laundry with his clawed foot. The rope twanged back, and the shirts catapulted off it onto the ground, landing in the dirt. Mina winced.

“You can do it, Pixit! Flap harder!”

«I can flyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy!»

Pixit wobbled in the air, his tail dipping into the cornstalks. Sparks danced over his scales, and several sparks jumped from him onto the leaves and the tufts of corn silk below. Uh-oh, Mina thought.

«Why ‘uh-oh’?» And then: «Oh no. Uh-oh.»

Losing control, the young storm beast dropped lower into the cornstalks, disappearing for a moment. When he rose up, flapping harder, the field beneath him was on fire.

«I’m sorry, Mina!»

She felt his chagrin like a spurt of scalding oil—​the feeling came with his words. It tasted sour in her mouth.

Mina ran across her room, yanked open the door, and raced downstairs. “Fire in the field!” she yelled. She didn’t stop—​she kept running out the back door of the farmhouse.

Behind her, she heard Mother. “What did she say?”

And Gaton said, “But we haven’t been cleared for a burn—”